The Price of a Memory
Part 6/17

"Well?" Claude asked as they made their way back to Suresh's flat a few hours later. He was visible now, a modest wad of money tucked in the pocket of his coat. Peter shuffled along beside him, hands stuffed deeply in his own pockets, a pensive look on his face Claude didn't like one bit. He didn't look disappointed, exactly. But it was clear before he spoke that even if his memory had become so much Swiss cheese, that damn moral compass of his was still fully in tact.

"I guess I just thought there would be more…stealth involved," Peter said, choosing his words with obvious care. To Claude, he sounded like someone trying to comment on a play or movie he'd just seen without realizing how completely he'd missed the point of it all.

"Well," Claude said with no small amount of annoyance, "I'll have you know it takes years of practice to get good at what I just showed you."

"Oh, really?" Peter asked, amused.

"Aye, it does," Claude replied. "It's all about knowing who's going to make a good target and not caring if people think they're going barking mad because they're suddenly bumping into things they can't see."

"But picking people's pockets for money?" Peter asked. "I think I'd rather have seen you peeking at naked people."

"I find there's not much profit in spying like that other than a good wank here and there," Claude said. "The money part, well, I could say that's a matter of survival but really it's mostly just fun. Technically, I could steal food and the other necessities any time I wanted to."

"Or maybe get a job like a normal person," Peter said.

"Speak for yourself, mate," Claude said. "I don't see you going out and contributing to the gross national product or whatever it is on a daily basis. Putting all that good nursing school education you say you have to good use. Not like you've forgotten any of what you learned there."

"Maybe not," Peter said. "But I think knowing the procedures isn't all that important when you can't keep straight the people you're supposed to be performing them on."

"So what is it you do for money then?" Claude asked.

The boy hesitated before mumbling sheepishly, "Trust fund."

"I might have guessed," Claude said. Disgusted as he felt by this development, he might have gone into one of his old tirades about spoiled rich children but even as the words formed on his lips, he remembered this his goal this time around was not to scare Peter off but to earn his trust. Deciding to keep his criticisms to himself for the moment, he adjusted the subject slightly. "What about Suresh? What's he do for money? I can't imagine waiting for freaks like me to fly into his radar is a very lucrative business on its own and he has mouths to feed."

"He's been trying to get a job with one of the schools around here," Peter said.

"As what? A janitor?"

"As a professor," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "Also, I'm pretty sure my brother gives him money."

"What, like a nanny's fee?" Claude said, snorting.

"More like hush money," Peter said. "Mohinder's allowed to 'indulge my delusions' all he wants as long as he doesn't tell the press I have them in the first place."

"And he accepts this, does he?" Claude asked.

Peter lifted his shoulders, his hands still in his pockets. "Like you said, he has mouths to feed." He gave Claude a sideways look. "Anyway, at least we both had jobs at one point. What did you do before?"

"Me?" Claude said. "I worked for a paper company based in Texas. Primatech."

The boy at least had the courtesy to wait a few beats before he burst out laughing.

"What's so funny about that?" Claude asked, bristling.

"Nothing," Peter said, beginning to lean on Claude just a bit as he tried to catch his breath. "I just can't picture you behind a desk in some cubicle. Like with a Dilbert mug and sticky notes everywhere."

Claude arched an eyebrow. Peter's fit of laughter was beginning to draw attention.

"I don't know who or what Dilbert is but I get the feeling I should be insulted," Claude said.

"Just please don't tell me you were in customer service," Peter said.

"I was a sales representative," Claude said. The lies came easily enough, even years later. He wasn't even sure if he'd told the old Peter this much. "I traveled the country with my business partner."

Peter bit his lip to keep back anymore embarrassing displays of mirth. "Did you wear a suit?" he asked, eyeing the virtual rags Claude wore now.

Claude bristled. "So what if I did?" Then, because Peter had started chortling again, he added, "And I looked damn good in it too."

"I'm sure you did," Peter said, cheeks reddening slightly. "I just can't picture it."

These days, Claude had trouble picturing it himself. What a fool he'd been back then, thinking he was serving some greater good by turning his own in to those who meant them harm. True, he'd gotten smart in the end. But where had it all gotten him? He'd formulated his own agenda and had paid for it dearly, if not with his physical life then with any chance he'd had at leading any kind of a normal, productive existence. Reduced, he was.

But in a way, he and Peter had that in common. Against all odds, the boy walked and talked and breathed and bled but what chance did he really have of ever leading a normal life now he couldn't trust his own ability to remember simple things? Because maybe they could walk down the street side by side, shoulders brushing and witty banter and all just like they had back then, but one thing his afternoon with this new Peter had made clear was that the floppy-haired kid Peter had once been wasn't coming back. Even if he did manage to recover his memories, he'd never be the person he'd been before.

In shared silence, they arrived at Suresh's apartment building but weren't quick to go inside, fearful that their day of delinquency would produce an encore of the wrath Suresh had displayed a few days before when Peter had disappeared with Molly. Instead, they lingered outside on the sidewalk in what felt to Claude like a parody of those scenes in old movies when the two main characters arrive home from their first date and are trying to decide whether it would be the proper thing to kiss each other good night on the doorstep.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Peter asked suddenly, thankfully breaking into Claude's thoughts before he could take the comparison any further. "Turning invisible, I mean?"

"No," Claude said. He might have answered more sarcastically except for the serious concern he heard in the boy's voice. "Least, if it does, I've long since stopped noticing."

Peter nodded, absorbing this.

"Why? Did it look like it hurt?" He hated to think he was making funny faces without knowing it, passing in and out of visibility.

"No," Peter said, brow furrowing. "I don't know why I asked."

But Claude had a feeling he knew why Peter had asked, even if Peter himself didn't. Invisibility wasn't one of them, but Claude knew from his time with Primatech that some abilities could cause pain to the people who practiced them. Most times, the pain went away or was adapted to over time as the newness of the experience faded and the person became used to their powers. With empaths, this was less true if only because the newness of it all never really went away for them as they acquired power after power. The old Peter had known this well enough--or was starting to know it, the last time Claude had seen him. As for this new Peter, Claude supposed it wasn't entirely impossible that somewhere in that Teflon memory of his lay some buried recollection of glowing hands and explosions in the night sky.

"It was kind of cool, though," Peter added after a minute. "Watching you disappear like that."

"Thanks," Claude said. "I'll be sure to let my special effects department know you enjoy their work."

Peter smiled at this.

"Come on, then," Claude said. "Before you have to think of another way to flatter me just to stall for time."

Wordlessly, Peter followed Claude into the building. Together, they climbed the stairs to Suresh's floor. It didn't escape Claude's notice that Peter seemed to be hanging back behind him the whole way up, following rather than leading. It would have been easy to attribute this obvious hesitance to nervousness, heading for another lecture from Suresh just days after the last one. But then Claude began to realize that there was more to it than that. Peter wasn't just lagging behind. He was actually following Claude as if he was a visitor new to the building rather than a resident there.

There was no time to comment on this before they reached Suresh's door--plain, dark thing that it was--where Peter sorted clumsily through his keys before leading the way inside. Rather than the frantic worry they'd been expecting, they were met with the anticlimax of a peaceful scene involving Suresh typing at his computer and Molly reading on the couch. Their arrival was barely noticed until Suresh looked up from his work, peering at them over the top of his glasses.

"Good, you're here," Suresh said, mostly to Claude as if he wasn't hours late for the appointment they'd set up the day before. He stood from his chair. "I wanted to discuss some of the results of that blood test with you. In private, if you don't mind."

Ah. So Suresh didn't want to fight in front of the children. Fair enough.

"Yeah, all right," Claude said, giving a last glance toward Peter before following Suresh into that strange little mini-laboratory of a bedroom at the back. Apparently the only private refuge in the whole place except the bathroom.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Suresh rounded on him. "Well?" he said.

Claude hesitated. "Is that an irate 'where the hell have you been, I've been worried sick, what do you have to say for yourself' sort of 'well' or is it a 'what information have you managed to gather that I might also be interested in' sort of 'well'?" he asked, genuinely unsure.

Suresh considered. "The latter," he said. "For now."

"Ah," Claude said.

"I assume you've been with Peter this entire time," Suresh pressed.

"Aye, went on a little field trip, we did," Claude said. "Demonstrated my abilities for him, as promised."

"And?"

"And he mostly hid in the alley," Claude said.

"I see," Suresh said.

"Yeah," Claude said, a shade of disappointment entering his voice without his permission. It wasn't like he'd expected it to be as it had been the first time around--Peter naturally and unknowingly turning invisible with Claude just by virtue of standing next to him. But it would have been nice if the boy had had the courtesy to take a hint when it was being handed to him. Especially with Claude all but reenacting their former misadventures right in front of him.

"So? Now that you've spent more time with him, do you still believe Peter should be told about his powers?" Suresh asked.

Claude wandered over to the bureau, picking up a small necklace with a heart-shaped pendant and dangling it between his fingers as he thought how to respond to Suresh's question. Part of him wanted to answer with a resounding yes. Not because it was true, but because he still believed what he'd said the day before about Peter deserving to know. The other side him was beginning to see that things were more complicated than he'd originally thought.

"Does it seem at all odd to you?" Claude asked, setting the necklace down and looking up at Suresh, who was watching him closely. "The last thing he remembers before everything goes blank is the night of his brother's accident."

"So?" Suresh said.

"So," Claude said. "He told me once that was the night he started figuring out about his powers. Said something about knowing his brother was hurt before anyone ever called him to tell him what had happened." Claude lifted his shoulders. "Maybe he didn't start properly using his powers until months later, but that was when it started and that's the exact moment his memories disappear. That can't be a coincidence."

Suresh folded his arms. "I suppose it's possible that Peter's memory loss is more psychological than physical," he said. "The mind is a complicated thing. There's no telling how the explosion affected him."

"But what if it wasn't the explosion?" Claude said.

Suresh arched an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting Peter's memory loss might be…deliberate?" he asked. "Because pardon me for saying so, but it seems to me that it would take an extremely well-aimed brick to the head for someone to rearrange a person's memories as conveniently as that."

"I'm just saying there are some questions need asking," Claude said. "And from what Peter's told me, I have a feeling Nathan Petrelli is the one to ask."

"Nathan Petrelli is in Washington," Suresh said. "Though he does stop in every few weeks to check in on Peter."

"Good, because I don't fancy traveling all the way there just to see him," Claude said. "Maybe next time he comes for a visit, I can arrange a private chat of my own. See what I can get out of him."

"You really think he orchestrated some conspiracy to steal Peter's memories?" Suresh asked.

"I don't know what I think," Claude said. "But I'm sure as hell going to see what I can find out."

"And until then?"

Claude shrugged. "Got the boy's attention now, don't I?" he said.

Suresh nodded, conceding. A pause passed between them. Standing next to the door, Claude could hear Peter and Molly's murmuring voices as Peter recounted for her what sounded like a somewhat edited version of his afternoon activities with the invisible man.

"Don't suppose you found anything in those blood tests," Claude said. "Anything I need to know about. In case he asks me later."

"Oh, yes," Suresh said as if he'd only just remembered. "Didn't I tell you? Your blood is perfectly normal. Turns out the invisibility is all in your head."

Claude felt his lips twitch even as his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Think you're funny, do you?"

Suresh grinned. "Not at all," he said. "Are we through here?"

"Actually, there's one more thing," Claude said. "It's about your door."

Suresh blinked. "My door?" he said.

"The door to your flat."

"What about it?"

"You need to decorate it," Claude said. "Hang one of Molly's drawings on it or make some kind of sign."

"But why?" Suresh asked, bemused.

"Because otherwise Peter can't recognize it," Claude said. "He followed me all the way up the stairs just now as if he didn't know where it was we were going. Like he'd never even been here before."

Suresh's face fell. "He used to do that a lot back when he first moved in with us," he said. "I thought he was getting better about it." He sighed harshly. "Damn."

Claude felt a pang of sympathy for Suresh in spite of himself.

"Aren't there drugs out there that would help him?" Claude asked. "For Alzheimer's patients or people who've been in accidents?"

"There are," Suresh said. "But Peter's not interested in seeing a doctor about his problems and since I can't prescribe medication and I'd rather you didn't steal it from unsuspecting elderly women and their families--"

Claude bristled.

"--we're stuck with what we have."

Claude sighed. "I just think a picture or something would make things easier for him," he said. "Make it more distinguishable."

"No, you're right," Suresh said grimly. "It's a good suggestion. I should have thought of it."

With that, they emerged from the bedroom to find Peter and Molly huddled together as expected. The two of them sat on the floor at the coffee table, Molly on her knees and Peter with his legs folded underneath him. Molly colored as they talked, Peter handing her crayons as she filled in the different colors in a picture she'd found in a coloring book.

"So when he goes invisible do his clothes go invisible too?" she was asking as she added the green to what looked like leaves on some sort of tree.

"Yeah, his clothes disappear too," Peter replied, glancing up at Claude as he and Suresh came back into the room with a smile that bordered on conspiratorial.

"Good," Molly said. "Because it would be weird if he had to be naked." She made a face. "But how do his clothes go invisible?"

"Magic," Claude answered before Peter could respond. He had little experience with children but he knew it was usually safe to assume that this answer would satisfy them, no matter the question.

But of course Molly would be the one child in the world who knew better.

"There's no such thing," she said matter-of-factly.

"What're you on about? Of course there is," Claude said. "See, these are magic clothes. They're made from special fabric that responds to signals in my brain so when I go invisible, the clothes turn invisible with me."

Molly looked to Peter, questioning. He winked at her and held out another crayon.

"If you say so," she said, shaking her head.

"Right," Claude said. "Anyway, I'm off for the day. Be back tomorrow."

"Bye," Molly said, not sounding particularly torn up about his imminent departure.

"See you in the morning," Peter said.

"Yeah," Claude said, hearing the implied invitation to meet Peter at the coffee shop again and trying very hard not to be too pleased about it. "See you then."

TBC

Thanks so much to everyone who left such generous reviews of the previous chapters! I hope you continue to enjoy the story!